Herculanium (26 page)

“Care to try it, pare?” asked Nando, one of the assistant trainers. “How about going a few rounds with one of our boys?”

Preston dipped a small piece of crispy pork rind into garlic vinegar and popped it in his mouth. “Don’t think so, friend. You boys play too rough.”

“What do you think of our boxingeros?” Nando sat down beside Preston and patted him on the shoulder. “Some of the best fighters in Asia train in this gym. We got people from Neo-Japan and New Seoul come here to train.”

“I see that, but I just wonder how you guys will do in a street fight, where there ain’t no rules?”

“You mean where anything goes? Look at the boxers, my prend. Them scars you see aren’t from gloves. We also train in arnis, Pilipino stick-fighting. With or without weapons, we kick all ass that challenge us. Puck them all.” Nando casually lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then blew smoke away from the corner of his mouth.

“Base commander arrange a surprise for you, Mr. Jones,” he continued. “I guess you been asleep long time, or something like that. He wants to show you a heavy-weight match, something you see in the Mainland.”

“You mean there’s more?” Preston turned his head at his bodyguard, who was sitting a table back behind him. If the gym proprietors had something underhanded in store for their guest, Preston made sure he had someone to back him up. The guard nodded his head, listening to their conversation and alert for any surprises.

“We got two fighters from the Dutch circuit, ex-champions who want to settle grudge.”

“Big boys, huh?” said Preston, smiling while rubbing his palms together. “I like that. So far, I’ve seen your light and middle-weights go at it. How are your heavyweight matches different?”

“Oh, this no regular match. This is grudge match, much more deadly. They play by Manila Haircut rules.”

“Manila Haircut?” Preston didn’t like the sound of that.

“You watch and learn. This is what real boxing all about, none of that shit you see on TV. This real.” Nando stood up and extinguished the cigarette on the stained tabletop. Preston leaned back on his chair and looked around. With trainers and fighters scrambling to their respective corners, the White Knuckles Gym fully came to life.

Flanked by their trainers, the fighters approached the referee standing in the middle of the ring. The classic stare-down began, with each boxer unflinching as the official laid down the ground rules of the match. Each man was a massive specimen of fitness and combat, statuesque as if chiseled from Roman marble. Fully-garbed in studded headgear and gloves, they resembled armored crustaceans set to duel. Had each fighter’s gear not been colored red and the other blue, it would’ve been impossible to tell them apart in a flurry.

Scoreboards ignited in red above each judge. Two referees circled the ring, just waiting for the signal to begin the match. What had been a training gym of competitors suddenly turned into a raucous crowd of fans, taking bets as two huge foreigners were kind enough to entertain them. There was no announcement of names, nor the ritual of formal introductions. All that mattered was that they hated each other.

With the clanging of a cheap bell, the human cock-fight began.

The red boxer came out of his corner first, immediately stalking his opponent and pinning him against his own side of the ring. The blue boxer quickly raised his hands up in the guard position, shuffling his feet as he moved counter-clockwise around his opponent. Red mirrored Blue’s every movement like a shadow, simultaneously cutting off the ring and limiting his mobility. In the blink of an eye, Red threw an explosive four-punch combination, landing jarring blows to Blue’s head, stomach and ribs. Blue immediately went into a defensive shell, bobbing his head side-to-side and taking care not to step back directly in a straight line. Side-stepping around Red to avoid any counter-attacks, Blue immediately pushed away and reset himself in the middle of the ring.

Dipping his left shoulder and feinting a low jab, Blue threw a monstrous overhand right cross over Red’s guard, landing flush against his jaw and dropping him down to one knee. Preston could see the studs on Blue’s glove tear into Red’s headgear, shredding a piece of the protective fabric. Blue continued to pummel the top of his headgear before Red was able to grab him by the waist and suck him into a tight clinch. Blue immediately pushed his hand against Red’s hips, preventing him from forcibly arching his back and attempting an illegal take-down.

Locked in an intricate clinch, both fighters trapped and parried each other’s blows. Having full-fingered gloves, they were able to grab and slide between wrists, forearms and punches, going into a terrifying flow of defense and offense. After a seeming deadlock, Red withdrew his arms and stepped back, only to rush back in again and reset his clinch. Sensing Red was attempting to overhook his arms, Blue immediately snaked his wrists inside and grabbed the back of Red’s head, pulling it down and driving his face into a wicked series of uppercuts.

The referees quickly stepped in the moment the round ended, forcibly grabbing each man and pulling them apart. As the chairs unfolded in each corner, each fighter sat down and smiled, as if having just returned from a stroll in the park.

Preston gently probed his teeth with a toothpick and smiled.

“What do you think, brad?” asked Nando, returning to Preston from one of the fighter’s corners. “Good action, yah? Now this is a man’s fight, none of that pussy slapboxing your people used to do. What you think?”

“It’s not true boxing, but it’s not bad.”

“What you mean? It don’t get no better than this.”

Preston removed the toothpick from one corner of his mouth and positioned it on the opposite side. “They have power, just no technique.”

A hollow clang signaled the start of the second round.

“Let me show you what I mean,” said Preston, leaning forward and observing the fight closer. “You see the two fighters? Watch this…”

Both fighters cautiously circled each other around the ring, meticulously measuring their optimum striking distance with each step. Blue established his strong jab early, using it as both a probe and a strike. Red planted one glove permanently against his head, alternating the protective hand with the defensive angling of his body.

“At this range, they’re pretty good. They’re maintaining the correct distance and establishing their position.”

“Oh, you a boxing expert now, huh?” asked Nando, shaking his head while smiling.

Switching from orthodox to southpaw in one flawless shuffle, Blue threw a lunging body hook into Red’s ribs, followed by a winging left hook to the head. Red barely ducked the second punch, countering with his own two body hooks and a wild spinning backfist.

“See what I mean? What kind of techniques are you teaching these boys? Boxing is about grace and power, technique and skill. Watching a skillful boxer is supposed to be a thing of beauty. It’s not how many rules you don’t have, but fighting and winning within the rules that limit you. Your boys just go in there and brawl.”

The fighters immediately resumed their clinch, with red surprising blue by catching him in a strangling side headlock and pummeling his head with shovel hooks.

“I rest my case,” said Preston, throwing his hands up as he stood up. “Perfect example, right there. Ground and pound. Anyone can do that.” He tapped his bodyguard’s shoulder and motioned for them to leave.

Nando grabbed his arm and made sure he had the last word. “You don’t come to our gym and insult us. We do this just for you, and you walk away and laugh. Why don’t you go back where you come from? This place for grown-ups, not little babies.”

Preston swung his arm away from Nando’s grip. As he and his bodyguard left the gym, Preston could hear laughter behind them.

His bodyguard was still busy inside his own bathroom stall when Preston emerged and checked himself in the mirror. The restroom was filthy beyond description, wreaking of thick urine and encrusted with unknown stains. He leaned over the sink, held his breath and vomited, making sure the faucet was on full blast to drown out his heaving. He stared at himself in the mirror, closely checking his eyes. As much of a fight fan that he was, he had never seen such carnage displayed and praised before. His hands shook uncontrollably, and he tried hard to fight the despair and nausea he was drowning in.

“Are you alright, sir?” asked the bodyguard from inside the stall, his voice echoing with a flush.

Preston quietly inhaled, then swallowed hard. “I’m fine. Let’s get the fuck out of here. You guys call this fighting?”

Tierra de las Hadas Amusement Park

Mexico City, Mexico

If magic and enchantment could be drawn on paper as blueprints and then built as a theme park, it would still pale in comparison to the wonderland Preston was touring. It was as if the park was a sieve to the river of time, where Gothic cathedrals, Mayan pyramids, medieval castles, and Buddhist temples stood perfectly together, adding to the gestalt of a wonderland peopled with superheroes, cartoon characters, and mythical beings from around the world. Walking through its streets meant seeing a world decorated with balloons, confetti, and streamers, an open market the size of a small city. From the lowliest stray drinking cup, the attendants directing traffic at the rides and concession stands, to the most mammoth roller coasters above, fiesta colors of every possible blend and shade came graphically to life.

But the true stars of the show were the rides. Ferris wheels and roller coasters of every possible design and variation rose to the sky, forming an artificial skeletal mountain range around the park. Double and even triple-decker Ferris wheels stood a hundred stories above street-level, while others had one diameter above the ground with its lower half subterranean. Roller coaster rides varied from near-orbital climbs and descents, to bullet carriages that rode on misshapen geometric puzzle tracks. Many of the rides were beyond description, twisting, shaking, swirling and colliding its passengers in a near-suicidal experience that could potentially kill instantly. The constraints of gravity were thrown out of the design equation, with engineering and human endurance being pushed well beyond their limits.

And this was only in the daytime.

At night, the Fairy Kingdom was a galaxy of its own, putting the most spectacular celestial displays to shame. Gone were the daytime open gears and machinery of the rides, replaced instead with ethereal lighting that ran the contour of its form. From every vantage point, the park was a kaleidoscope of shimmering neon and pastel, with the tallest rides looking like massive crystalline sculptures lit from within. Animated fireworks streamed across the evening sky, moving and fading like elaborate hologram spotlights.

Preston and Jayna sat in box seats overlooking the playing field, far above the raucous crowd below. The amusement park’s arena also doubled as home to the city’s premiere soccer team, poised to win another championship in the coming season. The night stadium lighting bathed the field with a greenish hue, giving its spectators an almost mystical countenance. In this darkness, fans across the field could only be seen in the form of glow-sticks and flashlights swaying with the chants. A high, barbwire fence separated the players from the spectators, the field from the stands. Unlike the sit-down, peaceful games that Preston was used to in his past, hooligans here tried to disrupt the game from the very beginning. Fan loyalty had taken on a new meaning, where games weren’t only decided on the playing field between teams, but in the stands with the fans, as well. Only the brave and foolish attended these games, and the local military could barely maintain order.

“There’s another fight over there,” said Preston, pointing just below them. “I think that makes it six so far, and the night has barely started.”

“Will you please stop fussing and watch the game?” said Jayna, rolling her eyes. “You’ve paid much more attention to those idiotic hooligans than watching the bloody game. It’s like you’ve never seen a football game before. Are you really that green?”

Preston stared at her, unsure of how to respond. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t this tour for my benefit? I have seen soccer before. I don’t know what you call all this, but I have seen soccer.”

“It’s called football. At least get the terminology correct. God knows you’ve looked at everything else but the game. At least respect it enough to get the name right.”

Preston turned his body in his seat and faced away from Jayna. She had been irritable since the hover flight last night, quick to snap and even faster to judge.

“What is your problem? Since we arrived yesterday, you’ve just been one raw nerve. I’m suddenly walking on eggshells around you. Are you going to give me a clue or should we just end the tour now?”

“Don’t you dare threaten me,” she said. “I am not going to allow you to end my career because you don’t find our games entertaining.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve done a dandy job sabotaging the success of this tour. Since after the baseball game, all I’ve heard from you are complaints. No matter how much we’ve tried to accommodate you, nothing seems to be enough. ‘The rules aren’t fair, it’s too violent, it’s not violent enough.’ We wanted to impress you with our world, and I guess so far we haven’t. And when we don’t impress you, then I’m not doing me job. You’re making me look like shit in front of our sponsors and my superiors.”

“But I haven’t said anything to anybody. I haven’t spoken to any reporters, I haven’t addressed the media.”

“They can tell just from your reaction. You are a public figure now. You of all people should know the scrutiny that comes with fame. There are hundreds of cameras pointed at us right now. They don’t need to hear our conversation, they don’t have to read our lips. But every time you shake your head in disappointment or grimace from shock, you become the out-of-place country bumpkin they think you to be. That makes you look bad and me all the more closer to losing my commission, or getting reassigned.”

Preston smiled. “You protecting me, huh?”